Social Graces
by cynicaldesire
Summary: After Therinfal, Inquisitor Liandra Lavellan offers burial to the Templars lost. The Commander lingers in the graveyard after the services, missing a War Table meeting. Liandra finds him there to comfort him.
1. The Commander Mourns

"Commander?"

Cullen turned to the shy voice that stood by the gate. He offered her a weak smile and dropped his hands from the prayer position. "Herald. My apologies, is there a meeting-"

Her staff tapped on the frozen earth. "No. I called it off, actually." He stood from his kneeling position. "I… told Leliana and Josephine to tend to their work and… _advised_ that the Templars care for their wounded and dead." Her eyes fell to the urns and coffins that surrounded him. "I can see they took my suggestions to heart."

Cullen felt a smile tug at the scarred side of his lip. So full of compassion and fire. "That's all right, Herald. Most of the men and women here had been corrupted by the red lyrium."

Her staff leaned against the small Chantry graveyard's fence. She moved closer to him. "What does that matter?"

Cullen lifted his gaze from her staff to her twitching ears. "Templars have been… trained to believe in purity, Herald. Most of them would not abide those that had been corrupted. Which is why, despite their low numbers and lack of Chantry support, the ones you rescued and brought here seek out the mages in our ranks."

His eyes fell to her bright green eyes as she moved up beside him. "Cassandra is none too pleased about that either." Her red lips lifted into a smirk. "I couldn't help but overhear that you deflected them onto her."

He felt a slight heat color his cheeks. "Yes, well… They sought my counsel, but as I am no longer a Templar, I merely directed them to the nearest and highest in command."

An easy chuckle filled the air between them. The Herald's faded out, leaving Cullen with a distant smile. Her eyes fell to the coffin he had knelt beside. Her right hand moved to brush a bit of snow off the top.

"It's wrong." There was a darkness, a tremble to her voice he hadn't heard before.

He tilted his head. "What is, Herald?"

Her head shook. "They were devoted before. They were changed, some against their volition. It's wrong not to honor them. They gave their lives."

Cullen smiled sadly. He lifted a hand toward her shoulder furthest from him to hold her. His hand closed with the quietest creak of leather and fell back to his side. "The ones that had families are being compensated. And the ones that did not have been recorded. They will not receive high honors, but they have been listed under Killed In Action."

The Herald's ears sagged. "Rather underwhelming way to be remembered."

Cullen's brow furrowed. "Herald?"

Her head shook. "They… I don't know much about shemlens or Templars, but Killed In Action could mean anything."

Cullen shifted his weight. _Shemlen_. She had used that word less and less of late. The hate and vitriol that accompanied it when it fell from her lips had faded completely if she ever used it now. "The Inquisition holds their names in our records at current. Each K.I.A. has a subsequent qualifier. For those that fell to the red lyrium poisoning, it will read as such."

The Herald lifted her eyes to his, her brow knit. "'Poisoning'?" He confirmed. "Sounds better than corruption. What of those that died-"

Cullen chuckled absently. "For those killed by the Red Templars, they have been listed as Defending the Templar Order."

The Herald's ears perked slightly. "That they were, Commander." Her hands moved to the opposing elbows. "And what of Ser Barris?"

His eyes fell to the coffin. "He has been given full honors, per his rank and house. He will be remembered as a hero." The Herald nodded beside him. He heard a sniff. "Herald?"

Another sniff and her head shook. "Blasted cold mountain air giving me the sniffles."

Cullen heard the tremor in her voice. His hand found the opposite shoulder despite himself. "Herald, you don't-"

Her body quivered, though Cullen couldn't tell if it were from the cold or her tears. Her head dropped, her ears sagged. She turned against his arm into his chest. Her hands pressed into his chestplate, her forehead between them. Rarely had Cullen been the one that a woman cried on, let alone one as stoic and resolute as the Herald of Andraste.

Several moments before Cullen's wits returned to him. He shifted his hands to her shoulders to provide some semblance of comfort. "Herald…"

"I'm sorry, Commander." Her voice rang against the metal of his chestplate, her body shook with sobs.

His brow furrowed. "For what, Herald?"

"I couldn't save them. I couldn't save more of them." Her head rolled against his chestplate as she shook her head. "So many Templars, nobles, innocents died. _So many_ , Commander."

Cullen's eyes fell to the graveyard. The fence had been removed to allow space for more. He had allocated a whole field just outside of Haven's grounds to allow for burial as well. Just as he had when Kirkwall fell. Though the coffins and urns had been of all different shapes and sizes. Entirely too many of them had been small.

"You saved what you could, Herald." The light had faded from his voice. "That is comfort enough."

Her shoulders trembled. "But I could've done more. I could've-"

He rubbed his gloved hands up and down her upper arm. "Herald, take their lives and honor them. Some died to protect you. Do not let their deaths be in vain."

"Commander…" Her voice barely drifted to his ears.

He felt her trembling calm under his hands. He rested his hands on her elbows. "Do not dwell on the lives you could've saved. Do not let yourself drown in the sorrow of the lives you couldn't save." She lifted herself off of his chest. Her eyes remained downcast. "You did more than the rest of the world did." Her red and puffy eyes lifted to his, a soft green glow inside them. "Without you, without the Inquisition, it's possible all of the Templars would be tainted. You saved them, Herald. And you left them their autonomy. That is more than the Chantry has ever done."

Her brow knit again. "You're not angry with my decision?"

He smiled softly. "Of course not."

Her eyes fell to Barris's coffin. "I only did what I thought was right…"

Meredith's bark of orders, the Rite of Annulment, fell to Cullen's ears. His brothers and sisters took up arms against every mage in the Gallows. He had to watch as men and women were torn apart with blades, as mages allowed themselves to become abominations to save themselves from the sword. Terror-filled eyes glass with tears caught his from under a table. A child. A young mage that had never been given the chance to learn. His eyes went black. Fear had given way to a demon.

He had to cut the child down. _He had to_. But he could save the others. Save the ones that had been left in the cells downstairs. The ones that were still pure, still teachable. They had done nothing wrong. They had been just like his sister had been. They were young and afraid and just wanted to be normal. Normal like their parents, or their brothers and sisters, their cousins. They didn't want the Maker's wrath. They didn't deserve it.

Cullen forced a smile. "Though the others do not agree, Herald, I believe what you did was for the best. What the Templars need now is for someone to have faith in them. With a firm hand, a bit of guidance, they can be restored to the proper path."

The Herald nodded slightly. They both stared at Barris's coffin. Barris had been one of the Templars in Kirkwall shortly before the Chantry explosion. He had been transferred out shortly after on his family's orders. And pockets. Barris had been one of the first to aid Cullen in defending the children. He had tried to talk some sense into the Templars that came for the children. He had been the one Cullen entrusted to their defense when he confronted Meredith.

The Herald hiccupped. "I should've left more in the Great Hall. I should've gone to check more often. I should've-"

Cullen set his jaw. "Herald." Her lips snapped shut. Her body continued to shake with the aftermath of her sobs, the sharp inhalations of breath, the sniffles.

He had gotten lost in that line of thinking after Kirkwall's rebellion, after Kinloch, even now. _If only I had done more_. _If only I had been stronger, better, faster_. _If only_.

Cullen placed a hand on the top of her head. Her ears relaxed. He had no words to help her now. He still hadn't learned how to cope in the aftermath of such a tragedy. She had seen so many in such a short time. "I am here for you, Herald, should you have need of me."

Her head turned, his hand moved with it. Her large green eyes scanned his face. Her eyes fell to Delrin's coffin. "I'm… sorry, I should go."

"No." Cullen's voice rumbled through him. He hadn't meant to speak. He smiled down to her. "Mourning is easier to do with company."

The Herald nodded slightly. Cullen allowed his hand to fall to the middle of her shoulderblades. She did not shy away from his touch. He felt the soothing calm that came from her presence drift up his arm. It had started the day she landed on the back of his horse and clung to his waist. He had thought it strange then. It had only gotten stronger afterwards, after they spent time together, sitting on the docks, sharing their stories.

"I do wonder, though, Herald." She sniffled, and hummed. "I find it curious you would mourn for… _shemlen_ Templars." He struggled to keep his tone amiable, genuinely curious.

Her head shook. "What they chose to do in life, they are all just corpses now. And they met their end in a much crueler way than anyone else."

His brow furrowed. "But you…" How did he phrase it. "You are a mage. A Dalish mage."

She nodded. "And these men and women hunted my kind, hunted mages. But they are all equal in death." She sniffed. "They all lost their futures, lost their potential families. They were a life, were an impact, positive or negative on someone. And now… All that they were is held as ashes in an urn or a skeleton in a coffin. Nothing to mark their time except a tombstone."

Cullen shifted his weight beside her. "There were some that did not receive even that."

She sighed, her breath still erratic from the tears. "Everyone deserves something, Commander. Everyone starts out pure and innocent. It is the world that corrupts them."

Tear and terror-filled eyes flashed before him. Black eyes returned to blue, knit in confusion. The boy had died. The demon did not require him any longer. Cullen held the child, long blond hair covered half of the boy's face. _Why does it hurt? I can't breathe. Ser Cullen? I can't see. It's so dark._

"Commander?"

He jolted from the memory. "Apologies. Just… Times like these, all kinds of memories come flooding back."

She turned and pawed at his arm. He removed it, but she grabbed at his gloved hand, threaded her fingers with his. He glanced between her face and his hand. "Herald?"

She shook her head. "You don't have to tell me, Commander. But I'm here for you, should you have need of me."

When was the last time someone held him? The Warden had tried after Kinloch. Hawke had offered a shoulder. But he was a Templar, a soldier. He was strong. He had been through so much. Maker, the things he had seen, the things he had done. The people he had killed and lost.

The coffins, the urns became blurry. He blinked, hoping to clear things up, and felt the chill on his face. Tears. He laughed once, sniffled. She looked back to him. "I suppose the mountain air is a bit chilly for me, as well."

Her brow knit with worry. He shook his head, willing the tears into his throat. Delrin had found him, the boy, after Kirkwall had been stabilized. He had brought him to the makeshift morgue. Cullen hadn't cried then. Hadn't let himself feel. He had turned away, continued counting the dead, the wounded, making arrangements for the rest.

Ser Delrin Barris took the boy's name. Sent condolences to the family. Ser Delrin Barris had remained in touch even after Cullen had left the Templars. Ser Delrin Barris had returned from Therinfal Redoubt in a coffin.

The tears chilled his face. He fought against them. He raised his left hand, the one she had not taken, and attempted to wipe them off his face. _I am a man_. _I am a soldier_. _I am a lion_.

"Commander?"

Her worry broke him. He took a knee, muttered apologies. She moved with him. Her arms moved around his fur, pulled his head to her chest. And he allowed himself the tears.


	2. Unwanted Memories

"Herald?"

A muffled groan came from beyond the door. Cullen chuckled and turned the ring handle to open the door. He called her title again, and the groans accompanied the squirming of sheets from the only bed in the room. He moved closer to place the stack of books he had brought on the bedside table. That hand freed, he shifted to hold the tray of food he brought with both hands. He moved to the longer table that had become a makeshift desk to set down the tray.

"Herald, it is nearing afternoon. If you continue to sleep, you are in danger of becoming behind on your work." He moved to the window. The curtains rested open, allowing for plenty of light.

"Ugh, Commander…" Her Dalish accent held to her tongue in the early moments of her waking. "You constantly tell me to rest, and now you barge in here to wake me?"

She tossed the sheets down to uncover her torso. A simple, long-sleeved shirt. Bandages covered her right hand, her left still contained in the glove that Solas had provided for her. She grunted, pain in her voice, as she attempted to roll onto her back.

He hurried to her bedside to provide a strong but gentle hand. She nodded her appreciation. "There is a lot of paperwork piling up that require your approval." She worked her right hand toward the pillows. He caught sight of her motions and moved the pillows into a pile for her to rest back against in an upright position. "You will remain in bed, _resting_ , and the paperwork will come to you."

Her eyes blinked slowly, still reeling from her exhaustion. He chuckled at her frazzled hair. It occurred to him that he had rarely seen her without the crown of braids. Her hair fell almost to her waist in red waves, a few strands astray from sleep.

Her jaw opened in a yawn, her bandaged hand lifted to cover her mouth. She sniffed and her eyes focused on the tray of food. "You brought me something to eat?"

Cullen smiled. "A peace offering for waking you." He motioned to it. "Would you like it now?"

She yawned again, but nodded. He moved the tray to her bed, resting it carefully to her left. Her left hand, for all Corypheus had done to it, had remained her most functional. Her meal consisted of mostly handheld foods – a sandwich, crackers, cheese, a few cuts of fruit, and a cup filled with juice.

"I also brought more reading materials for you." Cullen gestured to the pile of books.

The Herald swallowed. "More? I barely had time to get through the ones you brought before."

She had been reading them. He hadn't expected her to do so. "There isn't much to do when locked in a room with just a candle. And I know how much you would prefer to be roaming the grounds, picking out the best perches-"

She chuckled. "Thank you, Commander. They are welcome. Though you are right." His brow lifted. "I would prefer to be anywhere but this room."

They shared an easy chuckle. Her smile lingered through her chewing, her dimly glowing eyes surveyed the plate. The scar on his lip remained tugged. Her smile had infected him. So much of her attitude had infected him. He found himself caring more deeply about his troops, about the welfare of the mages and citizens of Haven. He wanted to do more, to devote more of himself to the cause.

He even spent more time with the Inner Circle. Varric's insistence hadn't meant much to Cullen, preferring to work than to socialize. But spending time with the Herald had lifted his spirits. He found himself eager to get out of bed for more than just inspections and overseeing training.

"How are the refugees holding up?" Her words came around a mouthful of sandwich. She swallowed, her eyes dropped, chastised by his arched brow.

"The ones that were able to move with the forward scouts," he glared pointedly at her, "have settled in quite nicely. The others that had to move a bit slower have brought corpses or more injured. But everyone is thankful for their own life. All thanks to you."

She nodded solemnly. The praise rarely affected her. Something Cullen had begun to find curious. She almost resented it. "What is being done for the dead?"

Cullen's brow furrowed. "Their names are being taken. Josephine and I have an account set up to compensate the families for their loss. There is not much in that coffer as yet, but once Skyhold has been properly repaired and supplies established, there will be more to devote to it."

The Herald folded a slice of cheese and tried to fit the square of cheese on the round cracker. "Is there enough room in Skyhold for everyone?"

Cullen tilted his head, watched her carefully eat the cracker and cheese. "No. The most severely wounded have been placed in the courtyard outside. A camp has been set up at the base of the mountain. Mostly the troops live down there, refugee mages, Templars, and anyone else displaced by the war or the destruction of Haven. Some of the rebel mages and defected Templars have committed themselves to the Inquisition." He moved across to the desk. "Why do you ask, Herald?"

She shook her head and readied another cracker with cheese. "You said paperwork is coming. I just want to get a head start." She took a bite. The way her ears twitched warned Cullen of her lie.

He pulled the chair from the desk and spun it around to face her bed. "That would not be of your concern, Herald." _Not yet, anyway_. "I can't help but notice you worry a great deal about those in the care of the Inquisition."

One brow lifted over her green eyes. "Should I not?"

Cullen shook his head. It had been his experience that people only cared when it affected them in some way. Most of the Templars he had served with had stories of mages in their own family or mages that murdered members of their family or town. Those stories were their reasoning for becoming a Templar. Cullen was no exception, to be sure. Alienage elves cared when they or their loved ones were abused. Mages cared about their own mistreatment and little else. Dalish rarely cared about anyone other than other Dalish.

"I have rarely encountered altruism, Herald. Especially among the Dalish." His attempts to expel any accusatory tone failed.

Her brow furrowed. "And how many Dalish have you encountered, Commander?"

He set his jaw. He hadn't meant it that way. But he would not falter. "Enough, Herald, to know that you are quite different."

Her bruised chin lifted, eyes narrowed with confusion. "I can't tell whether you attempt to flatter me or judge me."

Cullen's fur tickled at the back of his neck. He lifted a hand to rub the fur away, to settle his skin. "I suppose a bit of both, Herald." She took another bite of cracker. "I just… It seems odd that you – or anyone – would care so deeply about a group of strangers."

She took a breath. The rest of her cracker with cheese moved to the plate and she brushed the crumbs from her bandages. She shifted on the bed, measuring her response.

She swallowed slowly. "These people, Commander, be they strangers or allies or enemies, are my responsibility." He made to object but she lifted her bandaged hand. "You weren't there when the Breach first opened. You weren't there when Cassandra dragged me from the Chantry, wrists bound with rope."

Cullen had been briefed on the happenings prior to his arrival, but Cassandra must've left this part out.

Her eyes fell to the lumps under the covers that were her legs, one thicker and straighter thanks to the splint. "I'm sure you've seen the looks that mages receive, the looks that elves suffer." She glanced up to him for confirmation. "I've seen them all. I've seen the racism, the assumed prejudice, the hatred. I've seen the fear and terror upon realizing I am a mage. I've remembered them all from the few encounters I had with those outside of my clan, or even those in my clan."

The fingers of her right hand rubbed together absently. "But the looks I received in Haven, before I stabilized the Breach… The looks were different. There was blame and fury. Pain and bloodlust. I had never seen or felt such emotion. Had the Breach not allowed demons to physically cross the Veil, I worry that many of those at Haven would've become abominations."

Cullen shifted in his seat. Indeed, he had not been there, but abominations? That seemed a bit strong.

She looked up to him. "I was the sole survivor of an explosion that destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes, a site revered by your Chantry. Why me? Why an Elf? Why did the Divine have to die? Did the elf cause this? How dare she survive and not… my loved one, my friend, my Divine. What does she have to do with this? Why is she not dead? We should kill her now before she can cause any more problems."

Her eyes fell again. "These were the questions I overheard. These were the questions I read on their faces. These questions I asked myself. And I could answer none of them. I had no answer to why their Maker had caused them pain, why the Creators would save me, why their comrades and loves ones, why the Divine had to die." She took a breath. "I told you before that I wasn't good enough to become Keeper of my clan? That was why I was sent to the Conclave. And if I wasn't good enough for my clan, what made me good enough to survive this attack? Why me?"

Cullen shifted in the chair. He remembered the days when he had first arrived and she had separated herself frequently from Haven. He had visited her by the frozen lake, by the snow-covered boulders around Haven. She had commented that she needed time to think about their next course of action, but he knew better. And now he knew why. "Herald-"

She shook her head. "Whatever the reason, I was marked, Commander. I was left with this…" She lifted her left hand. It sparked, causing her to wince. "This Anchor in my hand. And with it, I can save Thedas." She looked to him, the green of her eyes bright. "That is why I care, Commander. These people _need_ me to care, or they are all doomed. And what kind of Herald would I be if I left them wanting?" She offered him a crooked smile, her vallaslin scrunched a bit on her cheek. "Someone has to take care of them, Commander."

Cullen's eyes fell. The surviving Templars had looked at him with disdain when the Warden had rescued him from the ritual room at the top of Kinloch Hold. Why had he been the only survivor? Why not Jenkins or Klaus? Why had it been Cullen Rutherford?

" _The question takes over, posing it silently between words of the Chant. The demons don't answer. They never answer. Only burning, biting, breaking. I will not succumb. I will not falter. But please, Maker, please make it stop._ "

Cole's voice echoed in the small room, the Herald's chews silenced as the words fell from the young man. Cullen stood abruptly, the chair catching on the desk behind him. His blade yanked an inch or two from the sheath before Cullen processed the words, the presence. He sighed heavily and slid the steel back down.

"Cole." Cullen stood a bit straighter. He had not yet learned how to manage the young man, the spirit.

" _The question lingers long after the tower is gone. Why me? It consumes everything, colors the world. Can't talk to anyone. Can't move one until I know the answer. No one can tell me. Someone has to know. Not in Ferelden. Have to move. Find the answer elsewhere_."

"Cole." The Herald's bandaged hand appeared on the young man's shoulder, her voice melodic as she speaks to him. His large hat tilted downward, shrouding his face. "That's enough now, Cole."

Cole's hat turned left to right, right to left. "He thinks it's his fault. He thinks he's the blame. And so do you. I wanted to help."

Cullen's brow furrowed. Cole had picked up on his memories. The spirit had invaded his privacy. "Cole, you should-"

The Herald's eyes lifted to Cullen. A warning rested beneath them. Cullen's ears shifted back. "That's all right, Cole."

"I didn't help." His voice breaks, sorrow dripping from every syllable. He lifts his hand toward Cullen.

The Herald's hand moves to the young man's elbow. "No, Cole. No need to make anyone forget." His fingers shake. "We've talked about this, remember? There are some you can make forget, but there are others, like the Commander and I, that are strong enough to remember." The boy's hand falls. "Thank you, Cole."

"You need help." Cole's words are stronger, a firm belief in his position. He turns around to the Herald to accuse her directly.

The Herald smiles softly to the hat. "And we will get it, Cole. But these are not things that you can fix with a flagon of water or a wave of your hand." Her own hands smooth the fabric on his shoulders, and Cullen watches her hands disappear under the hat. "These are things that we will suffer with for the rest of our lives, and will affect the way we react to things in the future."

"I don't like to see my friends hurt." Cole's hat lifts slightly, his face directed to the Herald.

She chuckles with a slight wince. "Perhaps you could help with my physical pain instead?" She gestured to the plate. "I'm out of crackers. How about you go get me some more."

The big hat bobs, a nod. Cole moves to the door, opens it, but stops. "They didn't break you, Cullen. No one could ever break you."

Cullen hears the leather of his gloves creak as the door closes behind the big hat. The memories had been tickling at the edge of his mind, a reminder of all the pain he had been through to get to the Inquisition. But the young man had been right; he had never found an answer. Not even in Kirkwall. Though maybe, just maybe, his answer was here.

The Herald groaned. Cullen had not registered, lost in Cole's outburst. She had gotten out of bed, standing carefully on her stronger leg, though both were injured. He noticed her short pants, the olive tint of her skin. He felt the tickle of fur on the back of his neck again. Her leg bent at the knee to compensate for the splint on her ankle. She tried to turn around, to move back toward the bed.

"Herald!" Cullen moved quickly to her side to take her left arm. She tried to wave him off. He would not be deterred. "Herald, what were you thinking?"

She sighed and turned her back to the bed. It rested higher than she did. She narrowed her eyes, groping at the height of the bed. "Cole needs a firm reality when that happens to him. He needs to be reminded of the physical plane, not the memories or the Fade." Her lips pressed together.

Cullen smiled. She couldn't get into the bed without further pain. "Here." He moved to her side and leaned down to hook his arm under her knees. She squeaked, as she often did when he lifted her into bed.

"Commander, you don't _always_ -" He slid her feet under the sheets even as she protested. "I could've gotten into bed myself."

He chuckled absently. "But you didn't have to, Herald." He assisted in settling her back against the pile of pillows.

"Thank you, Commander." She pulled the sheets over herself. Her head fell back with a sigh of relief.

Cullen looked to the half-eaten sandwich and the crackers and cheese still on her plate. She hadn't run out of crackers. "You sent Cole for crackers?"

She nodded slowly. "He needed to help. But there's not much he can do." Her head lifted and she grabbed for a slice of apple.

 _No one could ever break you_. She almost had when she offered herself to Corypheus. "How does he expect to help when he digs through memories like that?"

She chewed on a piece of apple. "It depends. For some a simple flagon of water or a reassuring word. For others, he can allow them closure, having heard the final thoughts of a loved one as they passed through the Veil."

Cullen grabbed at the pommel of his blade. "What he said just now-"

She lifted a grape to silence him. "You don't have to tell me, Commander." She smiled absently. "But I am here should you require me." The grape disappeared past her lips.

She had uttered that phrase to him in the graveyard. She had uttered that phrase to him on several occasions. And yet. "You don't have to do that, Herald." Her head tilted. "You could ask."

Her glove waved dismissively. "If you wanted to speak of it, Cole wouldn't have picked up on it."

Cullen listened to the delicious crunch of the apple slice she picked up next. There was a truth to her words. He hadn't wanted to speak of his past, focused solely on the future of the Inquisition, his decisions colored by the terrors of his past. She still had not asked him about the tears in the graveyard that day.

"That's very generous of you, Herald." He leaned over her to steal a slice of apple. She exclaimed as he took a bite. "As is this." He chuckled around the fruit in his teeth.

"You're welcome, Commander." She pouted slightly, eyes narrowed at him.

He made his way back to the chair at the desk. He pressed a hand to the seat to bring all four legs back to the floor.

She picked up a grape as he settled back into the chair. "Do you suppose some day you will want to speak of it, Commander?"

He hummed quietly. "I… am not sure, Herald. I would not like to think so, but…" _Things have been changing so much for me recently_.

She nodded slightly. "It is a pain you do not wish to burden others with." She smirked slightly. He felt the smirk mirrored in his scar. "I will pray that you do not have to live your life carrying the burdens of others, Commander." She glanced down to the plate and found the handle of the mug. "You deserve someone you can trust your secrets and burdens to share."

His neck burned with a powerful itch. He lifted his hand to rub the sensation away. Something in the way she spoke the words filled his chest. "I… Thank you, Herald." He cleared his throat. "I… hope you find the same."

She nodded absently and her face disappeared behind the mug. He felt a smile tug on his scar again. Cassandra had tried to get him to open up about his past when he had asked her to watch him when he quit the lyrium. But he had declined and her response had been a tentative "I understand", but he could tell she didn't. When Varric had approached him to hear about Cullen's time in Kirkwall, selling his interest as research for another book, Cullen had to all but pull out his blade to make the dwarf understand his lack of desire to share his memories.

When the Herald said it, when she told him he did not have to tell her, he believed her. She genuinely understood. And if she understood, she must have secrets of her own. And she would need someone to share them with.

"Have you shared any of your burdens with the Inner Circle?" The question fell between them. He had meant to ask, though the look she leveled on him made him regret it.

She smiled sadly. "They share much of their burdens with me. I suppose they do not prefer to keep their history to themselves as we do."

Cullen tilted his head. "You mean to tell me that they do not know of your past?"

The Herald placed the beverage back on the tray. "I'm sure Cole has seen a few things, but… They do not ask, and I… feel no need to share."

The smirk faded from Cullen's lips. He had meant it to poke fun at her. She had spoken about so much of herself to him. And yet she claimed the Inner Circle did not know nearly as much. "Herald-"

The door creaked open, revealing Cole's large hat. "I brought more food for you."

The Herald sat up, her melancholy stare brightened at Cole's return. Cullen could tell she had forced it at first, but the smile that she showered on the young man crinkled her eyes.

"Thank you, Cole. Though it appears the Commander actually brought me plenty." The young man's shoulders sagged. The Herald motioned to the open door. "But perhaps someone out there is in need of food and water, something that won't upset their stomach too much?"

Cole brightened the room. "I'll see if anyone else needs help. Thank you, _ma sulahn'nehn_." Cole disappeared through the door and closed it behind him.

The Herald's face had gone pale at the elven that fell from Cole's lips. Cullen stood and moved closer to her. "Herald, are you all right?"

Her bandaged hand lifted to her forehead. "Yes, yes, apologies." She reached shakily for another slice of apple. Her color began to return. The apple remained in her hand, her eyes focused on her knees again. The melancholy had returned.

 _They do not ask_. Cullen glanced at the door. "That phrase, what did he say?"

The Herald lifted the apple toward her lips but hesitated. She offered it to him. "It… means 'my joy' or 'my happiness' in your tongue."

Cullen took the apple slice. The white meat of the apple had started to brown. "That seems overly intimate. Why would he-"

She licked her fingers. "My parents called me that."

Cullen looked at the apple. He had heard many stories similar. The affectionate names their parents called them before arriving with Templars at the Circle. "Before you presented with magical abilities." She nodded slowly and poked at the sandwich bread. "How would he know to call you that?"

Melancholy curved her lips. "The memories we wish to forget, Commander, the ones that hurt us the most. That… Cole wants to help." She chuckled at the word the young spirit clung to. **Help**.

Cullen watched her pick up the sandwich and take a bite. He followed with the apple slice. She hadn't needed to tell him. He had barely gotten the question out when she told him. That was what she meant. No one had been interested enough to ask. Except him.

He chewed absently. Did that mean she trusted him?

He swallowed. "You didn't have to tell me." He took another bite of the apple slice. It had gotten bitter, but still sweet enough to enjoy.

She nodded slowly. "I trust you, Commander." She lifted the sandwich to her lips and took a hearty bite.

Cullen's hands found his pommel. The fur tickled at his neck. He felt a heat rise to his cheeks and took the last bite of his apple slice.


	3. Harrit's Gift

A familiar presence lingered just beyond the wall to the courtyard. Liandra's ears twitched, struggling to hear the voice through the cracks in the rocks, through the seams in the door. Too much activity outside impeded her progress. The presence was definitely not hostile, not dangerous, and did not harbor any demons. Just a nervousness that shifted from right to left to right again.

Her limited mobility kept her in the bed they had set up for her recovery as the rest of Skyhold underwent repairs and camp got set up at the base of the mountain. As such, there was very little she could do about the non-threatening presence that paced outside her temporary quarters. In the meantime, she read through _Hard In Hightown_ at Varric's behest.

Her heart jumped in her throat, her ears perked at the Commander's voice. She felt the goosepimples wash over her body at the Commander's easy chuckle. Her eyes left the page as his presence moved closer to the door. She could smell the cooked foods he had brought for her. That must mean the kitchens were operating smoothly and a proper supply line had been established.

A knock interrupted her logistics. She forced her eyes back to the page. She had lost her place at the melodic chuckle from the Commander. "Feel free to enter." Her voice carried to the door.

As the door opened, she lifted her eyes to the smiling face of the Commander. "Ah, Herald, I see you are doing better."

She smirked to him. "How could you tell?"

He placed another stack of books on the desk rather than beside her. "You are awake." The tray he brought with her lunch held a hearty bowl of stew, a chunk of bread, and milk.

Her eyebrows lifted. "Oh, Commander, this looks delicious." She had been limited to sandwiches and crackers, fruits, nuts, and cheeses, primarily things that filled the stomach for hours. "I've been missing a warm meal."

He chuckled at her gratitude. "I believe we all have. The workmen and women were able to have seconds and they have been working double duty ever since. Skyhold's reconstruction is back on schedule."

She turned slowly, checking her range of motion in her ribs. They hurt less this morning. He lifted the bowl to her. She glanced up to him as the bowl moved into her hands. She felt the spark through his gloves. Did he? "I take it the supply lines have been finalized?"

The Commander inhaled deeply. "Yes, for food. At least until the farmers can determine viability of the soil down the mountain for crops. And naturally crops will take some time. Though we do have a few ranchers clearing out spaces for herds. Though they will be useless without proper crops to feed them. But there will be space for them at the very least."

She nodded slowly and moved the contents of the bowl around. Steam still streamed from the stew, a delightful reminder of just how hot her meal was. The subtle shift of metal drew her eyes to his hands resting on his pommel. A tic, she decided, much like the rubbing of the back of his neck. Though she could never pin down what exactly caused it.

"That's all good news, Commander. What makes you so nervous?" She picked up a spoonful of stew, potatoes and carrots and onions and celery. She nearly wept as the hot mixture of flavors touched her tongue, a savory heaven of spices and vegetables. Even if there wasn't enough beef to grant every bowl a generous amount, Liandra's stomach was more than happy with her offering.

"Well, Herald, I… You and I have developed a rapport. As you have also with the Inner Circle. But-" His hand disappeared behind his neck, the leather of his glove creaking on his pommel. "I have not seen you with many other visitors."

Her eyebrows lifted. Her second spoonful hovered over the bowl. "I have not turned any away, if that is your concern. They just do not come to me." She lifted her spoon again, but it failed to breach her lips. "I can only assume they don't due to… prejudices or intimidation. Or perhaps my denial of truly being a 'Herald' has finally turned them away. If someone wished to visit me, I would not be offended."

She took her second spoonful and reveled in the taste. She could make better, but for the moment, this stew gave her life.

"That is good, Herald. Because I encountered someone outside that wishes to visit with you." The Commander moved back to the door and gestured for someone to come inside.

Liandra chewed absently as Harritt, the blacksmith entered sheepishly through the door with a brilliant staff. It shone brightly even in the dim lighting of the room, a metal shaft carved intricately to resemble a tree branch. The top curved around an orb of Liandra's favorite gemstone, an opal, that rested pleasantly milky white in the center of an exquisite labyrinth of metallic branches.

"Ah, good afternoon, Herald." Liandra had to stifle her giggles at the blacksmith's mustache. He followed her line of sight to the staff. "Oh, yeah, ahm." He cleared his throat and moved closer into the room. "I made this… as a gift. I heard you lost your other staff against the… Elder One."

The Commander accepted the piece of artwork from the nervous blacksmith. Liandra shifted her stew back to the sidetable. Her hands now free, she reached for the weapon. The Commander obliged and offered it to her.

Her eyes drank in every knot in the metallic wood, every line of grain painstakingly etched into the shaft. "Master Harritt, this is stunning."

The Commander gestured to the chair Liandra's guests typically occupied and Harritt took a seat. "No need for that 'Master' stuff, Herald. It's the least I could do for you. You saved my life. And my family's hammer."

The Commander's back stiffened. "She did?"

Liandra glanced to the Commander. There was much she had not told him about the battle at Haven. After her attempted suicide by Archdemon, herself and the Commander preferred livelier topics.

Harritt nodded toward the Commander, uncertain if the question was a prompt or an observation. "Yes. She, ah… She used one of her spells to break down the door so I could get into the workshop. I have to admit, I didn't have much care for mages unless they were Tranquil. Thems the ones that make enchantments and such. I usually have them enchant my weapons and armor to make them better."

Liandra's ears twitched. "What about Minaeve? Surely her research has helped you craft better merchandise."

Harritt's cheeks flushed. He lifted a hand to stroke one side of his mustache. "Sure, sure. I have nothing against her either. But she doesn't use magic, she just uses her smarts." He pressed two fingers to his mustache under his nose and brushed them out and down. "I guess what I meant was that you showed me magic could be more than just a means to profits."

Liandra smirked slightly. "I only did what anyone else would've done, Master Harritt."

Harrit's brow furrowed. "You didn't, Herald. The workshop was just outside the gates. So we were some of the first hit whenever those rebel mages and Tevinter bastards came rushing through. Most of my men fled. I barely had a chance to react when the workshop was set on fire and everything went to shit. I was the only one left."

Pride held the Commander's neck straight. "She is indeed a hero, Master Harritt."

Harritt nodded toward the Commander. "And she went out of her way to save all those others, as well."

The Commander's gaze shifted to her. Her vallaslin burned slightly. "All those others, Master Harritt?"

Harritt nodded again. "Yeah. Her and the rest of them were fighting Venatori? That's what I hear they call themselves. They were fighting them, letting civilians and other soldiers retreat. I heard the alchemist and the mage - Minaeve – had gotten trapped under some debris. She made sure to dig them out. And the woman Quartermaster? And that twat of a merchant. They all were trapped in some way and she saved them."

The Commander's eyebrows lifted with every person Harritt listed. A wave of warmth spread through Liandra's aura. Her throat felt dry. She swallowed and focused on the staff. "I was only doing my duty, Master Harritt."

Harritt shook his head. "You're a hero, Herald. You should-"

The Commander placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Humility is a virtue, is it not, Master Harritt?"

The smith's lips disappeared under his mustache. "Yeah, I suppose so." He motioned to the staff. "I figured you deserved something for your heroism, anyway."

Liandra nodded a thanks to the Commander for quieting the smith's protests. "I would never turn down a gift, Master Harritt. And this gift, this staff, is absolutely amazing. You made this yourself?"

His mustache curved at the corners. A smile, Liandra decided. "I had a bit of help." Her eyebrows lifted, curious. "I… wanted to make it out of your favorite… materials. But I also wanted to make sure it would last. So I did a bit of… asking around."

Liandra smirked. "That's why the Commander asked me about materials, then?"

The Commander's hand found the back of his neck again. "Supply lines were needed for Skyhold as well, Herald."

Liandra chuckled. "Why the design then?"

Harritt shrugged. "I talked to your elf mage friend, the one that hangs out in the library? He said your old staff looked something like that." He pointed to the end. "That bit up there, with the gemstone, he also said you preferred healing magic and lightning. Said the best, uh… conduit? Would be that gemstone there."

She smiled slowly. Solas had spent a great deal of time with her discussing the Anchor, the rifts, magic. The both of them did not get along too well with Vivienne on matters of the magical, and as such had become great colleagues. She was glad of it.

Her fingers pressed into the grooves that made up the grains. "How did you get it to look like real wood?"

He shrugged. "I coated it with some… ironbark? Cullen said he knew a friendly clan of Dalish that would be willing to send some and an artisan. So the center is real metal to keep it sturdy and safe, and the outside is ironbark to make it look like your old one. Ironbark is actually extraordinarily strong as well. The, ah, the Dalish fella carved out the top for me. I didn't want to muck it up. I kept to polishing that stone in the top there."

Liandra's brow furrowed. "A friendly Dalish clan?"

The Commander nodded. "They assisted in the Battle of Denerim against the Archdemon ten years ago. They have remained friendly with Queen Anora, almost doubling in size from the Denerim alienage."

Liandra arched a brow. "I thought you didn't know how to talk to the Dalish without offending them, Commander?"

A slight pink colored his cheeks. "Leliana assisted with the negotiations. Apparently she has a rapport with them."

Harritt nodded. "Good thing, too. I don't think I coulda done all that he did with that ironbark."

She chuckled slightly. "I confess I do not know much about blacksmithing, Master Harritt, but I suppose there is much you cannot do with a fire and a hammer."

One corner of the man's mustache lifted. "There are precision tools to make things. Which is what the Dalish fella did when he made that mess of branches. Ironbark is infused with metal, Herald, but because it is also wood, and wood catches fire, there is a special way to make it."

Liandra's eyes fell to the staff. Her vallaslin burned again. "Apologies, Master Harritt."

He shrugged. "If you're ever interested, you can come down to the forges and see how to make a sword or something."

Liandra lifted her eyes. A smile spread over her lips. "I would love that, Master Harritt."

The Commander laughed. "Be careful, Master Harritt, the Herald is very inquisitive. She will start to ask you all kinds of questions."

Harritt shrugged. "I don't mind. Apprentices have to do it all the time. Part of the teaching process."

Liandra lifted her chin to the Commander. "Did you use your family's hammer to make this?"

The Commander chuckled again. "See? It begins already."

Harritt's mustache curved at the corners. "No, Herald. The family hammer is an heirloom. Been passed down in my family for centuries, really. It's gotten too old to use in real smithing. Mostly just hangs on the wall." It was his turn to rub the back of his neck. "Gonna be a shame whenever I pass."

Liandra's brow furrowed. "Yes, it will, Master Harritt." She shared a glanced with the Commander. "But why do you say so?"

He waved a hand absently. "I see what you mean, Commander." Her head tilted, a prompt for him to continue. "I haven't had any kids of my own. Got no one to pass it on to. Too late to start a family now. I'm getting too old."

Liandra shook her head. "If you are truly worried about it, it can be made a fixture of the Inquisition. It will be hung on the walls of the Inquisition's halls with a plaque honoring your service."

His eyebrows lifted this time. "That's… truly an honor, Herald."

She nodded. "And never say you're too old for something, Master Harritt. Once you begin thinking you are too old, you have given up."

The smith's hands moved together. "Yes, mum."

Liandra pooled a bit of magic into her hand. The Commander tensed. He still sensed it, magic. She smiled to him and nodded toward the gem. "I'm just charging it, Commander."

Harritt's brow knit. "Oh no. I've never made a staff for someone specific before. Did I-"

She shook her head. "No. Staves have to be charged with the mage's magic." She looked to the opal, the warm rainbow hues twinkled through the branches that guarded it. "Every mage's magic has a different… signature, I suppose. If you had gotten Minaeve or Solas or Dorian to charge this staff, it would've been rendered useless to me until drained."

The opal burst with color as she poured a bit of magic into it. Greens and reds and yellows and blues filled the room, glowing faintly against the walls and ceiling. The opal sang a rich tone that faded as the magic settled into the center.

"Maker's breath." Harritt stood from the chair.

Liandra looked up to him. "Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't mean-"

Harritt moved closer to her, his eyes locked on the gemstone. "That was beautiful, Herald. Does that happen with all of them?"

Her eyebrows lifted. He was fascinated, not frightened. "It… is different with every gemstone, sometimes the colors change depending on the mage. But yes, that is a common occurrence."

The smith's hand rubbed his bald head. "You mages sure are something different."

The Commander took a step closer. Liandra stopped him with a harsh look. She turned back to Harritt. "Thank you, Master Harritt."

His hand dropped. "I should, uh, probably get back to the forges. Make sure my boys haven't been slacking off. With all the new horses Dennet is getting in, the requisition for horseshoes keeps getting bigger and bigger."

Liandra lifted the staff. "Thank you again, Master Harritt."

He nodded to her, then to the Commander, and made his way to the door. As it closed behind him, she held the staff to the Commander. Without a word, he took the staff and leaned against the wall in the small space between the bed and the sidetable. He lifted the stew from the tray and offered it to her.

"And thank you, Commander." She accepted the bowl. The steam had left it. The Commander's eyes narrowed when she summoned a bit of fire to warm up the bowl again. "You didn't have to stay, you know. Master Harritt is not a threat."

His brow lifted as he backed away toward the chair. "Of course not. Especially not to you." He grabbed the back of the chair and moved it closer to the bed.

She stirred the contents of the bowl and collected a bit of stew on her spoon. "So then why did you stay?" The spoon deposited stew into her mouth.

He settled into the chair, leaned back a bit, and lifted his feet onto the end of the bed. "To speak of more supply lines, naturally."

She dropped the spoon into her stew and covered her lips as laughter overtook her. The Commander's feet fell to the floor, concern furrowing his brow. She struggled to swallow and allowed the laughter to spill from her lips. The Commander's lips curved into a smile.

"You have a delightful laugh, Herald."

His comment sent a flush to her cheeks, the heat extended to the tips of her ears. "I… Thank you, Commander."

He shifted in the chair and moved his feet to the end of the bed again. "I see you were reading one of Varric's books. I've stayed away from them, considering the subject matter. Are they any good?"


End file.
